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The Faded RiverThe wine is red. Thick as arterial blood. It stains the tablecloth, which is white, which is a lie. You are young. Your hands are small. They tremble. The tremor is not fear. It is exhaustion. The banquet hall is vast. Stone walls. High ceilings. Candles burn low. The wax pools. The smell is heavy. Sweat. Wax. Iron. You sit at the far end. The lord sits at the head. He is old. His face is a map...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant GhostThe road is mud. You walk. The rain is cold. It soaks the wool. It stains the stone. You are a knight. Your armor is dented. Your sword is dull. You carry a seal. It is wax. Red wax. It is cracked. A single fracture runs through it. Like a vein. Like a bone. You hold it tight. You are not holding it. It is holding you. The castle rises. Gray stone. High walls. Black flag. No wind. The flag...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale ExileThe air in the high gallery of the King’s palace tasted of copper and old dust, a metallic tang that coated the back of the throat and settled deep in the lungs. Sir Aelric stood with his back to the polished obsidian floor, his sword raised not in attack but in a desperate, frozen defense against the weight of the room. He was not a man in the way the court understood men; he was a creature of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful AshesYou hold the cup. It is warm. It is not coffee. Look at it. Look at your hands. They are yours. They are not. The walls of the office are white. The light is white. The air tastes of ozone and old paper. You are seated at a desk. The desk is wood. The wood is real. Or it feels real. "Did you drink it?" The voice comes from the chair across the table. It is a man. He is wearing a suit. The suit...0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden FarceThe air smells of wet stone and old blood. You stand in the center of the rotunda. The floor is cold. Your armor chafes. It is heavy. It has always been heavy. You are a Warden. You keep the peace. Or so they tell you. You look up. The ceiling is lost in shadow. Only the faint glow of the oil lamps remains. They flicker. They breathe. A voice comes from the dark. It is soft. It is mocking....0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ShieldThe rain fell on the grey stone of the Citadel. It fell with a steady, rhythmic hiss. Aldric stood by the high window. He held his cup of cold wine. The glass was thin. The wine was dark. He did not drink. He watched the water run down the glass. It left streaks. Like tears. Or like blood. The city below was silent. The market stalls were closed. The bells did not ring. Only the rain spoke. It...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful SkylineThe ink on the ledger was still wet when I saw it. Not a stain, not a smudge, but a character, distinct and sharp, floating above the paper as if suspended in the air itself. It was the symbol for debt. I had spent thirty years in this office, balancing the books of the Holloway estate, my life reduced to a column of numbers that never quite summed to zero. My sister, Elara, had been the one...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful DinnerThe table was long. It stretched across the hall like a spine of polished oak, unbroken and pale. Margaret sat at the far end. Her hands were still. They rested on the white cloth, fingers splayed, as if holding down ghosts. The candles burned low. The wax pooled, soft and yellow, dripping over the edges. It smelled of bees and old smoke. Across from her sat no one. The chair was empty. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale AltarThe sky cracked. It happened without sound at first, a tear in the fabric of the afternoon. You stood on the porch. The air tasted of ozone and wet iron. Your husband, Thomas, held your hand. His grip was tight. Too tight. He pulled you inside. The door slammed. The world outside did not end. It changed. You are not here. You are in the Gray. It is a place of endless mist. The ground is soft,...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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